


Soul On My Sleeve (and shirt and slacks and...)

by Rinari7



Series: Nikolija 'Verse [5]
Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, Soulmarks, not quite, not soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 16:19:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 4,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18318872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinari7/pseuds/Rinari7
Summary: The cravat never caught on. It would have hidden the identifying mark in the hollow of one’s throat, that design — not words, but figures, lines contrasting against the skin in a symbol — that would be traced elsewhere on your skin, if this person was to touch your soul.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is... I hate to call any of my works "abandoned," but I'm not quite sure where to take it from here, and I haven't touched it in too long.  
> It's also yet another AU fic of my own AU. *sheepish grin*  
> But I like what of it there is, and I want to release the idea (this iteration of soulmarks) into the world. So: fly, my pretties!

The cravat never caught on. It would have hidden the identifying mark in the hollow of one’s throat, that design — not words, but figures, lines contrasting against the skin in a symbol — that would be traced elsewhere on your skin, if this person was to touch your soul.

It wasn't unusual to have multiple marks, some clear, more starkly colored, for best friends or lovers or spouses, and some fainter, for a passing acquaintance who nevertheless offered exactly the right words or listening ear at the moment you needed them, or some kind of animal symbol for a beloved pet.

There were some who had many, many marks belonging to others — tracing up and down an arm or a leg, the lines occasionally interweaving — and then there were some who only had a few, loving rarely.

And then, there was Helen Sophia Magnus, whose skin from just below her collarbones downward was a mess of various shades of gray, so that individual designs were hardly distinguishable any more, aside from a few that stood out in stark black lines.


	2. Gregory

Gregory Magnus was not a superstitious man, and he did not go to the Church, though he admittedly entertained the notion for several minutes when he first saw his daughter. And then, he determined that, no matter what, he would not shame her, he would not cow her. There was nothing wrong with caring, with loving. And so he sheltered her as best he could, taught her himself, bought clothing that showed as much or as little skin as she might like, and taught her to always hold her head high.


	3. Helen

Helen was always mystified by the many lines on her skin, and found herself tracing them often, as best she could, until one design became lost in another. She did not meet many people she liked, who did not arch an eyebrow in disapproval or pitying scorn when she wanted to debate politics with the men, or curl their lip in disgust if they caught a glimpse of her gray-tinted skin. Father once hit a man who implied she would become a prostitute.

She knew people wondered, behind her back “what kind of girl she was,” when they saw the gray peeking out from below her neckline. And finally, Helen simply discarded the gloves and the higher-than-normal necklines altogether, and learned how to hit a man where it hurt, and went on with her life. She wasn't the kind of girl to let such frivolities bother her.


	4. John

His mark was a scalpel, a thistle, a bleeding heart, a diamond. Helen wasn't sure what to make of it — but then, she didn't know what to make of her own, either, so she supposed that didn't say much. And anyways, a person’s mark symbolized them — not necessarily what they would mean to you.

John had an easy, charming smile, and a gallant manner that made her feel seen, and cherished, as she was not used to being, and when he asked if she might be amenable to him courting her, she caught her breath and gave him an enthusiastic, “More than amenable, Mr. Druitt.”


	5. James

James’ images were a book, and an eye, and some sort of machine, and the same strange bird-fish creature that Helen herself had, against the backdrop of a daisy. She hadn't been expecting to meet another so profoundly linked soul so soon, but he was important to John, and soon he became important to her, too. While his skin was not nearly so full as hers, he had more gray on him than on anyone else she had ever seen before, and it was some comfort, to know she was not quite so anomalous after all.

She wondered, sometimes, when she saw the looks that James gave John, or John gave James, in what way their connection burned — but it was hardly for her to complain, she who would apparently give a piece of her heart to so many, in ways small and large.


	6. James and John

So one evening, she nestled into the crook of John's arm, the air cool against her hot, slick skin, and whispered that, if he wanted to, he might make love to James as well, that she wouldn't mind. John drew back, a startled question in his eyes, and Helen simply traced James’ mark on his chest, dark beside her own, close to John's heart, and drew his hand to lay it over their marks on her own chest. “I want you both happy.”

 

He regarded her with something akin to wonder in his gaze, wonder which quickly turned to sorrow. “I love you, Helen. So very much. I would never be unfaithful, you must know —”

 

“I do. I do know that, John.” She smiled softly at him. He was so determined to be good to her. “I love you, too.” She shifted, rising slightly on her elbow to see him properly, to look in his eyes and make him feel the weight of her words. “I will always love you. But I don't think that you loving another, as well, in any way diminishes your love for me.” She kissed him, thoroughly, so that a quiet groan escaped him as she drew back again.  “I have seen the way you look at him. If he will make you happy, you should be with him, too. It would not be unfaithfulness. I can’t give you what he can.” Her smile was slightly wry now, a hint of cheek in it. “Only with James, mind you.”

 

“God, Helen, what have I done to deserve you?” And John smiled, and traced her jaw, and kissed her, and Helen’s heart soared.

“I mean, I don't know if he'll have — if he wants —”

 

Helen smiled, and tried not to laugh. He was adorable, and she told him so, and kissed the pout off of his lips. “Oh, I'm quite sure. I don't think you've seen the looks he gives you.”

 

“Really?”

 

She tossed her hair out her face, and smiled at him, nodding.

 

The next night, when the three of them sat together, talking, and John kept on glancing at James, again and again, Helen stood and drained her glass. “I’m off to bed. You boys have fun.”

She did stop, briefly, on her way out of the room, to set a hand on James’ shoulder, to lean down, to murmur in his ear, “I mean it. It's all right.”

 

John woke her accidentally when he came to bed, practically glowing with happiness. She kissed him, drowsily, as he pulled the covers up over both of them. He thanked her, and pulled her close, and professed himself the happiest man in the world, with her as his intended.

 

He fell asleep nearly immediately, while she lay there for several more moments, wondering if he had realized what he had let slip. And then she found herself running her fingers over her skin again, tracing the darkest of symbols, all she could see in the moonlight, those that lay even closer to her heart than James’ and John's.


	7. Nikolija

The mark was a bolt of lightning, a flash of sharp teeth, a rose with thorns, machinery, a desert sunrise, traced in the darkest of blacks, nearly atop her heart, closer to it than all others except one. She thought, idly, when she thought about it at all, that this person would hopefully bring the spark, the excitement, she sometimes felt her life lacked.

 

It was her first week auditing classes at Oxford when he came up to her. His long hair was tied back neatly, his suit crisp and smart, and his eyes widened as he eyed the base of her throat, and sucked in a gulp of air.

“I'm going to guess, by your reaction, that my mark is somewhere on you.” Her tone was carefully neutral, though she started herself as she saw his design.

Something in his eyes flickered. “I take it mine is somewhere on you, then, as well?”

She nodded, and then, suddenly regretting revealing something so personal to a complete stranger, she pulled up one sleeve, to reveal the mess of gray. “I presume it's as likely as any other to be somewhere in this tangle.”

His gaze flicked down to the interlocked lines, and he turned away, partially. Helen regretted it, suddenly, and then refused to regret it.

Then he glanced over his shoulder, and winked at her. “I won't ask where my mark is, then, beautiful. Though I know it’s clear as day, somewhere.”

Arrogant bastard.

 

“Nikola” Tesla sat down beside her in lectures regularly, with a quick wink and a friendly smile. Helen rolled her eyes at him, every time, but he was undeterred. His wit was sharp, and though she would never admit it, his murmured comments were amusing, when he wasn't flirting (and sometimes when he was). His mustache didn't suit him at all, but the gentleness in his voice did — and his accent made her stomach flip, just a little, despite herself. 

Somehow, she grew used to his company, missed him when he wasn't there, even invited him to their little study group when chemistry examinations were near.

And then, when Tesla told her a secret, Helen understood the confusion, the surprise “he” had displayed, at first, when Nikolija Tesla had first seen Helen’s mark.

It wasn't that Helen had necessarily assumed she wouldn't have a female friend. But she had comprehended long ago that it was rather unlikely, that she had more in common with men than with most women.

Against all odds, here was a woman she could connect with — one who dared to defy society even more than Helen herself. If only Nikolija weren't a show-off and an obnoxious arse half the time — though Helen still kept her around, for some reason she herself couldn't quite fathom.

 

John didn't like it. He was really rather insecure sometimes, when it came down to it, and she spent several nights reassuring him, after Nikolija had been inducted into their little group.

“You don't — you don't want — with her, what I have with James? Do you? I know it’s hypocritical of me, Helen, and I — I couldn't refuse you, but I would prefer you not to —”

 

“Shhh. John.” Helen waited for his attention then shook her head. “She's not — we're not — like that. She's obnoxious and arrogant.” A pause, then: “I love you, John. Believe me when I say I love you. With all my heart.”

 

And John nodded, and she could see the faith in his eyes as he smiled at her, and then his gaze flitted down to her skin, and the clouds of doubt gathered there again, gray like the lines on her skin, black like the color in which Nikolija’s mark was traced, closer to her heart than John's.

Helen refused to believe it.


	8. Nigel

Nigel was sweet. He was simultaneously quiet and chatty, a little like Nikolija, one to say a good deal without saying much at all. Attentive, unobtrusive, he noticed the little things, gave good advice, and it was easy to let him into her heart.

But for all their matching soulmarks they both knew they would never be more than the dearest of friends. And Helen smiled at him, and tried, tried her very best not to care that although it was her Nikolija flirted with, according to James it was Nigel who disappeared into her dormitory room some nights.


	9. The Experiment

It wasn't that Helen sought to be different — more different than she already was, at least. It was more that she didn't care if that was what she ended up being.

At first, she sought some reason why she might have so many marks, but it gradually broadened to all of biology, especially all of the unique, all of the odd, all of the abnormal.

And when the unknown beckoned, she jumped, and dragged her little harem along with her — or rather, these four who had their marks inscribed close to her heart followed so very willingly.


	10. The Ripper

It was several years until Helen understood the scalpel in John’s mark. That thin, sharp blade inked on her skin, that John might as well have plunged into her heart, or into James’.

When it became clear —  when the Ripper’s latest kill left evidence undeniable to them — he was already gone, a letter addressed to both of them on his bedside table.

 

_ “My loves, the dearest two in all the world to me, _

~~_ I didn't want to. _ ~~ _ Know this, I didn't — If I could have stopped, I would have. I would never wish to hurt you, or disappoint you, but I know you can never look at me the same way again, and so I have left, to spare us all the pain. _

_ You shall always be in my heart. _

_ John” _

 

She cried, and buried her face against James’ shoulder as the news sunk in. They held one another, and she instinctively placed a hand over her stomach, and the tears didn't stop for a long while.

 

“I'm sorry, Helen, I'm so sorry, I should have seen it.” James set a hand on her lower back, and drew her in close, and his lips murmured soft words in her ear. “I’m so sorry.”

“Stop, James.” Her voice was ragged as she lay her head on his shoulder. “If you should have seen it, then I should have, too. We both loved him. I was just as blind as you, James, I'm so sorry.”

 

“I should hate him, Helen. I should hate him for what he’s done to you.” His eyes blazed, turmoil filling them, love and hate and anger and grief, as he drew back slightly, and skirted his knuckles along the edge of her abdomen. “Did he know?”

 

Helen shook her head, and it felt as if the cluster of marks around her heart burned.

 

He inhaled, reading something in her eyes, and pulled her close again, murmuring into her hair. “Please don't — make any decisions yet. And whatever you decide to do, I'll help you.”

 

“I won't, James. I won't — I —” She shook her head. “Even now, I couldn't bear the thought of losing my child.”

 

He nodded, and drew her with him to sit on the edge of what used to be John’s bed, and they woke up the next morning in rumpled clothes, still in one another's arms.


	11. Ashley, Part 1

She wanted her child, but she couldn't bear having her now. And if anyone could engineer events so that they went exactly how she wanted, it was Helen Magnus.

Nikolija didn't ask what Helen needed a cryo-stasis chamber for, though from the look in her eyes Helen suspected she had guessed. James performed the procedure, and afterwards it was Nigel who reassured her that she had indeed done the right thing, as she ran her fingers over the surface of the small metal box that housed one of the most precious beings in the world to her.


	12. Emigrant Tesla

It shouldn't hurt so much. She and Nikolija were friends. Nikolija seemed to like her company, for whatever reason, and sometimes Helen enjoyed hers, but they weren't exactly soulmates, not like one might think.

So when she received a letter announcing Nikolija was leaving for America, so that Helen might say goodbye if she wanted, she was startled at how much the idea of the other woman living an ocean away disturbed her.

 

Not that she was about to show that. Nevertheless, she went to the harbor, to find Nikolija standing alone on the pier.

“Where is… has no one else come to say goodbye?”

 

Nikolija shook her head. “Nigel and I have already said our farewells.” She lifted one shoulder, briefly, as if to ask,  _ and who else did you expect? _

 

Helen glanced down. “James was called away on a case, otherwise he would have come, too.”

 

Nikolija smiled, with a wry little twist to the corner of her mouth. “Give James my regards. Though, as I'm sure you can guess, it wasn't him I was really hoping to see.”

 

Helen tilted her head. “I — Nikolija — I never know what to think when you say things like that. But —” she took a deep breath, “I'll miss you, too. As much as I  _ never _ thought I would say that.”

 

Picking up her bag — a single bag, only — Nikolija took a step forward and softly pressed her lips to the corner of Helen’s. It could hardly be called any proper, romantic kiss — it was soft, flat, quick — and yet it was just far enough onto her lips, lingered just a split second too long, for it to be called platonic.

 

And then, with Helen still brushing her tongue over the spot where Nikolija’s lips had been, Nikolija boarded the ship.

She hadn't even said a proper goodbye. Rude, melodramatic bastard.


	13. Helen and James, The Beginning

James and Helen didn't fall into a romantic relationship immediately. It took several years, in fact, years of working together at the Sanctuary, of double-checking each other’s judgement when asked, of little smiles and fingers brushed as he handed her her tea after a trying day.

 

“You still look as beautiful as the day we met,” he said quietly, wonderingly, as he handed her the teacup and saucer.

 

“There’s no need to try to flatter me, James.” The corners of her mouth slanted upwards nonetheless, and she tilted her head down, her hair falling in her face. “I just finished putting away that speaking salamander, and I know I still have slime on my skirt. I'll clean up in a moment, I will, I just —”

 

“Helen.” He reached out, as if to brush her face, and then stopped, as he always did, though she turned to look at him nonetheless. “It's not flattery. You are and have always been beautiful, no matter what you're in.”

 

There was something in his eyes, something she thought only shone for John, but now she just barely dared hope. “Really, James, always?” She tilted her head, with a slight smirk.

 

“Always.”

 

She set her tea aside, and reached for his hand, slowly drawing her fingers over his skin. “I wouldn't have guessed.”

 

“Well, after I was so unsuccessful in hiding my attraction to John… it would hardly do to be obviously pining after his intended bride, now would it?”

 

Helen tilted her head, conceding his point. “I think John could hardly have begrudged you or I if one of us asked him to share, though…”

 

James dipped his head, with a ghost of a laugh. “I wouldn't have dreamed of asking. I already had more than I ever believed I would.”

 

“Shall I ask for you, then, now?”

 

Their smiles matched, conspirators’ grins, enjoyment of a shared inside joke.

 

“That won't be necessary.  _ Would _ you care to join me for the evening, Helen?”

 

“For the entire night, if you'd like.” She briefly arched one eyebrow, and turned her head to kiss the palm of his hand.

 

“I meant it, though, Helen, precisely what I said,” he told her later, as he drew her closer to him under the blanket. “You don't look to have aged a day since 1886.”

 

She propped herself up, suddenly. “What if — what if that's it? I didn't seem to receive any kind of gift from the source blood — what if my gift was that I wouldn't age? And — and it would make sense — as to why I have so many marks, if I live for — for God knows how long… Imagine all the things I might see!”

 

Her enthusiasm was infectious, and he smiled. “A valid theory, Helen, though only time will tell. But it makes a good deal of sense.” He paused, briefly, and glanced at his easily discernible mark on her skin, and relaxed, a certain amount of peace and satisfaction in his expression.

 

It took a while before Helen went to sleep, and when she did, it was with a broad grin still on her face.

 

She awoke the next morning to find that James had donned the life-preserving contraption he and Nikolija had dreamed up years ago, while working on the cryostasis chamber for her child. Helen brushed the tips of her fingers over the top half of her soulmark, all that was visible of it underneath the machine, and she knew he could see how he had touched her.


	14. Helen and Nikolija, Part 1

It wasn't that Helen didn't love James. She did, deeply. But she knew she would never be  _ only _ his, and he seemed to know it, too, never tracing the marks over her heart as John had done, nearly obsessively.

She knew James had a ring, once, in her size, not his, with  sapphire and an emerald, so as never to remind her of John's diamond. Honestly, that was half the reason she left to establish a Sanctuary in South Africa, at that precise moment in time, because she saw him looking at it one night in his study. But he never asked, and she was grateful that she never had to tell him no.

 

Nikolija had made a name for herself in the Americas, or rather, the partner she had chosen for a while, Edison, had made a name for himself.

It really was time North America had a Sanctuary. Helen sailed across the sea, on a certain doomed ocean liner’s maiden voyage, saved by one of the members of a colony of what she would later term  _ Phocenoides ursus _ , fur-covered, clawed porpoises, with a bear’s head. They kept what passengers they could afloat until they were fished out of the water — including Helen herself, long after hypothermia had set in.

 

Nikolija met her on the pier as the RMS Carpathia docked, Helen's gaze nearly immediately finding hers among the milling crowd frantically searching for their loved ones.

Nikolija reached for her hand as soon as they were close enough, intertwining their fingers, and half of the things Helen hadn't known she ached to hear, she felt in the desperate crush of that grip.

Once out of the overcrowded harbor area, Nikolija pulled her into a hug. “God, Helen, I thought —” she swallowed, and held her just a little more tightly. “I'm glad you're all right.”

 

“It's good to see you, too.” Helen pressed her lips to Nikolija’s shoulder, shuddering. They held each other for longer than either had expected to need to, until Helen's nose was red from the cold.

 

“Have I mentioned you look as lovely as ever?” Nikolija trailed her hands down her arms, slowly, as she stepped back. “You're sure you're not actually harboring some latent vampiric genes, yourself?” 

 

Helen smiled, slightly cheeky, secretly pleased. The novelty, the wonder of it had mostly worn off, and she had needed to devise a new public identity and appearance some years ago. But sometimes, like now, she still felt that soar of delight. “Well…”

 

Nikolija stepped back, holding up a finger, still spry and unchanged herself, grinning that lovely, eager, maniacal grin of hers. “ _ Oh _ . Oh, Helen.” Her fingers curled, in delight, as she took in her friend. “That is  _ excellent _ . As soon as you're situated, we shall toast your newfound gifts. How does it  _ feel _ , Helen, to know you're more than human? Is agelessness your only —”

 

“Nikolija?” Helen arched her eyebrows. “Can we get home first?”

 

“I suppose creature comforts do have their purpose.” Still dressed as man, Nikolija offered her arm to Helen, and she took it.

 

“Like privacy, for one.” Helen's tone was slightly pointed.

 

“I may have gotten a little carried away. But, really, I mean, who wouldn't?” She leaned down, her lips just barely brushing Helen's ear. “I  _ did _ just learn my — friend, a very dear friend, will likely have a lifespan to rival my own.”

 

Helen couldn't help but wonder, for years afterwards, what she'd originally intended to say. 

 

As she traveled across the continent, scouting out locations for Sanctuaries, Nikolija accompanied her more often than not, when she was in between inventions. The engineer’s input proved invaluable, on many occasions, when it came to theorizing about the architectural and defensive possibilities of each location — and as entertainment on the journey in between.


	15. Transition

The United States was gaining in power and influence — Helen had learned to play politics a while ago — and so it made sense to plant her headquarters there.

Nikolija visited more often, too, insisting on creating the electrical systems herself, as well as setting up an electromagnetic field in case John should try to come calling, and sometimes just to spend an evening with wine and conversation. Helen was never quite sure what drew them together, what they might talk about this time, and yet at the end of their nights she couldn't recall a dull moment, couldn't fathom where the time had fled to, and she found herself looking forward to those sporadic visits.

Nigel was a vagrant, wandering all over the world, really, but she received letters, every few years, and he stopped by once or twice.

God only knew where John was.


	16. Helen and James, The End

James would never give up his beloved England — he knew his place in the world, and occupied it quite contentedly. More or less.

 

“James, you know cocaine will do you no good.” She frowned, upon seeing the white powder on sitting room table, instead of locked away in the clinic medicine cabinet where it belonged. “It’s only more wear and tear on the machine, to filter the toxins out again.”

 

“Helen, the machine can be repaired and replaced. I don't attempt to lecture you, so don't patronize me. I'm a doctor, too, in case you'd forgotten.” He didn't look at her as he cleared the paraphernalia away.

 

She stepped back. “I'm moving to the United States. You've been managing this Sanctuary quite well in my absence already — I'd like to appoint you head of it, officially. If you'd like the position.”

 

“I already am occupying the position, Helen, so you may as well make it official.” He leaned back in his chair, looking up at her, with that deep, solemn care for her in his eyes, and she suppressed the impulse to run her knuckles over his cheek.

 

“This is my life’s work, James, but I don't want to bind you to it if this isn't what you want out of life. You could lead the Scotland Yard, or go back into medical research, or do… something else. I wanted to at least give you the choice.”

 

“I appreciate it, Helen, but this is just as much my life’s work as it is yours. Especially this Sanctuary.” He glanced around the room. “The Network may be your project, but the Sanctuary, the research, the care for these creatures — that's mine, too.”

 

She swallowed. “I couldn't have done any of it without you.”

 

“I know.” His gaze was steady.

 

Helen inhaled, holding his gaze, her tone soft. “Do you want the position, James?”

 

“Yes.”

 

She nodded, settling herself into the chair beside him and leaning over to grasp one of his hands. “Do you want to tell me what's wrong?”

 

“I miss you.”

 

Now she did brush her knuckles over his cheek, cupping his jaw. “Oh, James…”

 

He closed his eyes, leaning into her hand. “Don't worry about me, please. I love you — and that means I want you to be happy. And I don't think you'd be happy staying here with me. Would you?”

 

“There's so much out in the world.” She glanced around, pressing her lips together. “And there are so many ghosts here.”

 

He nodded, understanding. “Don't be a stranger, though, Helen.” It was a request.

 

She kissed him, and moved nearly a third of the world away.


End file.
